


The Lone and Level Sands

by Ledaeus



Series: Greater Virtues of Criminality [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emperor Corvo Attano, Gen, High Chaos Corvo Attano, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Original Character-heavy, Police Brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-03 23:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ledaeus/pseuds/Ledaeus
Summary: Delilah is dead, but her magic lives on. Emily is still stone. The Empire is collapsing. Corvo tries to clear up the ashes.





	The Lone and Level Sands

**Author's Note:**

> _Banging pots and pans together_ This is just me explaining what happens after Dishonored 2 in my series AU thing. Extremely canon divergent and full of OCs. More of me setting up stuff for House of Pandora because it needs explaining. THANKS.,  
> Also I nicked the name from Percy Bysshe Shelley's _Ozymandias_ I'm sure you're all familiar.

Corvo wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Somehow, in the very darkest recesses of the back of his mind, he had always expected that it would happen, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

After all the battling he’d done to get to her, after all the effort he’d put in, after the brutal fight with Delilah Copperspoon herself, he’d returned to the throne room, expecting her to be standing there, still alive, still breathing. He’d expected her skin to regain colour, to warm up, she’d collapse out of it, tired but alive.

But nothing changed.

Emily had failed to come back.

Her skin was still stone - cold as ice, hard and unyielding and not at all soft and warm like skin should be; her eyes were unseeing and dead, no hot breath came from her lungs, moss and other assorted plant life still clung to the base of the statue. Her feet. He shook his head vigorously. _This statue wasn’t her._

Corvo’s heart stopped still. Delilah’s words ran through his head, fresh and cutting now as they had been when she’d petrified Emily.

_“I will cast you in cold marble.”_

He moved around so he and Emily faced each other head-on and he patted her gently on the cheek, hoping somewhere in the back of his mind that it would work, and then looked back, unsure of what to do next, at Delilah’s corpse lying on the floor behind him. Surely this wasn’t meant to happen. _Surely_ with her death, all of her magic would be undone. Surely.

This must be all some huge joke, he thought, Delilah probably just hadn’t quite died yet, she was still there _somewhere_ feeling the life ebbing away from her grip. He had put a sword straight through her neck as soon as he’d had the chance - nobody who was a threat to his family or himself could possibly be allowed to remain alive after this - but maybe he hadn’t done it hard enough. Maybe he’d missed something.

Maybe he should have trapped her in the painting instead. Maybe this dark magic came with fail-safes. Maybe he’d fucked up beyond repair this time.

He hurried to Delilah’s body and knelt down beside it, mouth dry. Pressing two fingers to her throat yielded no pulse, nor any sign of breath from her lips when he held his hand above her mouth and nose. Her pupils failed to contract when he wiped the blood from her face and pulled open an eyelid. Dead. Clearly dead. He got up, panic rising in his chest, and returned to Emily’s side, anxiously calling out her name. No response.

After everything he’d done.

Panicked pleading turned frantic as he wracked his brain for _some_ way to make it better. He _couldn’t_ fail her like he’d failed Jessamine all those years ago, like he’d failed Wallace and Lydia, like he’d already failed her _time and time again_.

Sobs crawled and then burst unexpectedly from his throat, and he dropped to his knees, reassured that nobody else was about to appear unexpectedly and strike him in the back. He reached up to her and failed to gain purchase, clutched his head hard in his hands, and cried over his _utter failure to protect the ones he loved. Again._

Was there anyone left?

Cold air filtered in through the room, and the guards that burst in through the door found him shivering and pleading at her feet.

* * *

Corvo was in a meeting, but his mind was vacant and had been for several hours. The room was too warm for comfort, the chair too lumpy, the discussions too slow and inactive.

It had been two days since he’d found Emily and been unable to undo Delilah’s magic. He had not stopped searching for a cure, and still, they had found nothing. Not for want of trying, anyway. A small group of specialists had been tasked with working out what had gone wrong; they’d moved her back into her secret room while they worked out what had happened and the throne room was cleaned, the vines pulled from the walls, rooted out the plants and the weeds, removed all the greenery and begun to clean.

Stonework had to be replaced, still. It was of no importance what they had it replaced with. Whatever the hastily-appointed high council wanted to have done to the throne room, they were free to do. Corvo didn’t care. He didn’t want a functioning throne room. He wanted Emily back. He stared into space as the stiff-collared, straight-backed, upright _bores_ talking with each other discussed the fate of the Empire and its leadership. The clock on the wall at the far end of the room indicated they’d been sat there for four and a half hours, and he allowed his eyes to slide lazily down to the half-empty glass of whiskey and associated bottle sitting in front of him. Fog was closing in on his brain again. He felt his eyelids drooping, so he sat up with a sigh, leant forwards, and then poured himself another. The bottle came up empty. It had been only half-full when he started, and he wasn’t quite sure where the time had gone. Consequently, his brain ached, and the room tilted.

He was drained. Hadn’t found the energy to cry these past few nights. Found himself sat up in the wee hours of the morning, still dressed, watching the dying embers of the fire. What was there left, anyway? A sliver of hope that Emily might one day be freed, but apart from that…

Nothing. 

There was nothing.

No family, no friends, nobody he could trust after Ramsey, not really, anyway. Alexandria Hypatia was roughly as close to ‘trusted friend’ as he could bring himself, but even then, it was a stretch at best. 

Even through the borderline torturous process of dismantling the structural supports that kept Delilah on the throne, there had been the Heart. Maybe that was the worst thing of all; the kindest blessing and the most excruciating curse. He’d been able to hear his long lost love’s voice after so long, even if it had mostly been disparaging remarks, but he could _hear_ the pain in her voice. Whatever had been happening to her, wherever she was, whichever plane of existence she had been in, it hadn’t been a happy one. A kindness to him was a cruel existence for her, so the loss of the Heart had been bittersweet.

It was hard to ward off the feeling that she’d have been better off without him anyway. He certainly felt like that in those early mornings accompanied only with a bottle and a headache.

The council had indeed been gathered at short notice. As soon as he’d been able to pick himself off the floor and collect himself. Alexandria, maybe the single person he trusted most in the world, had been kind enough to move to Dunwall and aid him in choosing a small collection of advisors loyal to him, despite her initial reluctance to do so. She had been a blessing, a small, reliable light in this new world, and Corvo trusted her judgement, much as he found it difficult to trust her in herself. The task of appointing a new High Overseer after Yul Khulan’s death had fallen directly to Corvo, at Alexandria’s disagreement with the existence of the Abbey, and he had chosen the one he believed, to his knowledge, to be the best man for the job. Dunwall had become extraordinarily difficult to handle, with hungry citizens on every corner and periods of civil unrest, and in his mind, a strong force such as the Abbey would be beneficial for the smooth control of Dunwall.

His name was Roman Zharkov.

Corvo had known from the get-go that he was ruthless and ambitious, he was well-known for it, and had revelled in the fact. He himself had organised several meetings with Corvo and his council, drawing up new strategies to help the city watch regain control, all of which had been brilliant, inspired pieces of work.

He was sat up straight, with short, black hair cropped short to the sides, leaning forward over the table, looking dead into the eyes of the new Royal Spymaster, Jacques Boucher, who settled back into his chair with his arms crossed tight over his chest. His apprentice, Lucy Solares, sat attentively in the chair next to him, silent, listening closely. It seemed to Corvo that she’d be next in line for the title of Royal Spymaster, from what Jacques had told him, when he did retire, despite his recent ascension to the role. Corvo hadn’t known Lucy for long, but he trusted Jacques’s judgement, and she seemed sharp as a whip.

Jacques had always been invaluable. Corvo had known him previously, having worked closely with him before the incident with Delilah. As the previous Royal Spymaster, he had trusted Jacques fully as his second-in-command, and having given up the post as quickly as he could following the coup, Jacques had happily taken it up himself. He’d expressed a wish to retire in a few years, being in his late fifties, and was currently in the process of training Lucy. She was in her mid-thirties, the youngest person ever projected to take up the role, but although Jacques was prickly at times, he was not stupid. Far from it. He’d never assign to the position a person who wasn’t capable of doing a good job.

Corvo watched Roman and Jacques with disinterest as they argued heatedly. In the short time that he had known them and seen them interact, they had not got along particularly well, but he was hopeful that eventually they would learn to make it work. They would have to. There was no way he’d go through sorting out that kind of mess again. 

He watched Roman as he scoffed and folded his arms tightly across his chest. Tried to speak, but was swiftly batted down by Jacques’s insistence on the topic. Corvo couldn’t tell what it was - it had been four hours, by the Void - but zoning back in, he managed to pick up snippets here and there. Roman tossed a folder full of plans across the table, where they were received begrudgingly by the Spymaster.

Jacques read through them quietly while the others waited. Looked like he was about to blow a gasket. “I’m telling you, this won’t work,” he said, voice tight and withdrawn, sliding the plans back over the table towards Roman, _“You_ don’t have enough men, and the Watch don’t have enough men. Even with your new shipment from Serkonos, this _won’t work and you know it.”_

Corvo dragged himself back from the zoned-out state he’d been hovering in for the last few minutes and listened up, mirroring Roman’s action, leaning over his papers, drawing his legs back underneath the chair. They had been discussing _something_ to do with riot control or _something_ , but he’d zoned out long before that particular conversation started up.

“Corvo,” Jacques’s voice cut through the air and had Corvo jumping in his seat, followed by an embarrassed pause, _“Emperor_ \- Attano, apologies. The riots are getting out of hand. People are hungry. We have only so many men left after the coup-”

“And so do the Abbey,” Roman interjected, causing Jacques to shoot him a dirty look. “I’ve requested one-hundred men from the Serkonos branch. They’ll be here within the week. They should be able to help the Watch restore peace and then hopefully we can begin to start rebuilding.”

Corvo cocked an eyebrow, irritated at being addressed as _Emperor_. Irritated at the whole damn thing. 

“I don’t remember you running this past me.”

“You are the de facto Emperor for now whether you like it or not, and you were catatonic when I came to ask for your approval, so I assumed the answer was yes. Something needs to be done _now._ I can send a message right now and order them back if you want.”

Another tense pause while Jacques shot Corvo another exasperated look from across the table and Alexandria crossed her arms, pursing her lips tightly. She hadn’t liked Roman from the get-go, had made no secret of it, but Corvo was ever-hopeful that they’d sort it out between themselves.

“No,” Corvo said to Jacques’s obvious dismay, tracing circles into the table, “We clearly have no other choice here. I don’t appreciate that you neglected to consult me first, however, please ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Roman dipped his head quickly, “So you approve?”

Always pushing.

“I wouldn’t call it _approval_ but it’ll have to do. Someone obviously has to stop this place tearing itself apart and we can’t just summon men out of nowhere.” The words were clipped and short, and Corvo didn’t care enough to try to make himself sound more animated. “Theo, thoughts?”

Theo Camberwick, the commander of the Dunwall City Watch had been busy staring down into and riffling through his own papers, lost deep in thought, stroking one hand over his chin slowly. A small pair of spectacles were perched on the end of his nose, looking just about ready to fall off. Theo looked up abruptly, hitched up the spectacles, and tapped one hand on his papers as he spoke.

“Your highness, a word in private?”

Corvo cringed while Roman scoffed and butted in from across the table. “You’re in a council meeting, anything that needs saying can be said in front of all of us, it might help us cook up a better solution.”

Corvo could tell already that, like Jacques, Theo wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of Warfare Overseers outnumbering the men in the City Guard, that he wanted to advise Corvo against taking up Roman’s offer, but instead he floundered, taken aback by the sudden challenge presented by him, and unwilling to kick off a fight. He stuttered for a couple of seconds, sweating, and then sighed. “The numbers don’t lie. We don’t have the men. Without the men we can’t sort the city out and the riots are going to get worse.”

The problem, in his measured opinion, was that he and the rest of the table had no other recourse. He didn’t want the damn Empire anyway; if it were up to Corvo, he’d pass it on to Alexandria or Theo or Jacques or anyone else who’d take it if they hadn’t already told him no despite his pleading. He found himself increasingly consumed by the thought of releasing Emily, although he still hadn’t been allowed the time to grieve through all the council meetings and the public addresses and the PR efforts, so instead he found himself zoning out. Thinking of her. Becoming lax on his supposed ‘responsibilities’.

At the end of each day he’d returned to her side and pleaded with her to return to him, but all of that had failed. A team of the best scientists he could find had been studying the statue, but so far, none of them had come up with anything of interest, and it looked unlikely that anything was going to happen soon. The previous night, he had taken to sleeping in the very same room as her, praying for some kind of delayed response, but had woken up the next morning to no change. No cracks, no breath, no life, nothing. 

The feeling of a hand on his arm jerked him roughly from his ruminations and he gasped, finding Alexandria looking at him sympathetically. She had done everything she could to console him, but to no avail. Theo also observed him carefully from the other side of the table, and Roman watched him like a hawk. Corvo hadn’t dared look in the mirror recently, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he looked just as shit as he felt.

“Should we… inform the public, your highness?” Theo’s voice was hesitant, and Jacques nodded in agreement, looking to Corvo. 

Tired of correcting them, Corvo sat back, ignoring the address, and thought. Tried to think. His mind was too foggy to think up a good answer to that. He didn’t want to. But how much worse would it make the situation if it got out that the Empress had been turned to stone? What would they think?

“Perhaps during the coronation?”

Fuck what they thought. Fuck the coronation.

Corvo shrugged into thin air and said nothing more. The other advisors looked at each other in confusion, and then back to him, after a period of tense silence.

“Your Highness, with all possible sensitivity, do we need to have a funeral and a public address?”

Too much.

He stood up abruptly, knocking the chair back with a loud _scrape_ that made Alexandria jump in her seat, gave Theo one last dirty look, and left the room briskly, closing the door to behind him, leaving the advisors looking at each other blankly. He could have sworn he heard Alexandria whisper a furious “Well done,” at Theo, but didn’t stop to investigate it further.

He found himself back in Emily’s room again, staring into space. Trying to avoid looking at her statue, yet failing all the same.

She wasn’t dead, he repeated to himself fervently, _she wasn’t dead._

* * *

It had been fruitless for anyone to try consoling Corvo. Hypatia had tried many times and given up by now, despite her comparative likelihood of success. Theo and Jacques had both come to offer their condolences, and been subjected to short, clipped answers, if not outright blanked. Even Roman had stopped by, brought him a glass of whiskey and talked at some length about how, wherever she was, she wasn’t suffering.

It was to do with the Abbey, Corvo was sure, or the strictures or _something._ As far as he was concerned, Roman could take the Abbey and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine.

He never told him this, of course, but instead sat on a nearby chair with a tumbler of whiskey, nodding periodically at him, utterly vacant. Downed the glass in one go, and gone for another drink shortly after, finding the glass empty. Roman simply shook his head and took the glass from Corvo’s hands. Then he went away, and Corvo was left with himself, the crushing silence, and all the paperwork that came with being the “de facto Emperor”.

Soon enough, he would be coronated and it would be de jure, and then it would be ten times as difficult to wriggle back out of it.

An Empire was not something that Corvo had ever wanted. Having grown up impoverished in a particularly poor area of Karnaca, he’d never really placed much value on _material_ things, although once he found himself in the position of Lord Protector, they had simply come to him. His relationships with those closest to him were what mattered the most, and now he found himself in the opposite position to his ideal. In fact, he wanted out. He wanted to go back to living a humble, low-profile life, but who else was there to take over after Emily? It seemed almost like, after Delilah’s coup, nobody was left. He was an island standing in and amongst the rubble. Barely even an island. A small, crumbling, broken mound of rock.

If Roman didn’t give him a general _weird_ feeling, if he hadn’t been an Overseer, if he didn’t have that _look_ in his eyes when the subject of leadership came up, then Corvo might have offered the role of Emperor to him, like he had done so for Theo and Jacques and Alexandria. It would have been no skin off his back personally; in fact, if he’d offered the job to Roman, it would have been a boon to him, but the _off_ feeling perpetuated, and no matter how depressed Corvo felt, no matter the quantity of whiskey he downed without regard for how utterly _shit_ it made him feel, no matter how low he sank, no matter how much sleep he lost or however many meals went uneaten, some small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that _he was here now._ He had a responsibility for the people. Citizens were _dying._ As parts of the Empire collapsed and floated far outside his scope of control, and uprisings happened and people starved to death in the streets and hated him more with every passing day, he hoped somewhere that blocking the position from Roman would at least prevent it from getting worse. 

The suggestion of extreme measures was what sealed the deal for him while having a relaxed discussion with him on a balcony in the palace one night many moons after the place had been cleared. Corvo, finding his mind growing foggy and hazy, had switched to drinking pear soda when he could, and Roman sat next to him as they surveyed the city. All was quiet. The auxiliary Warfare Overseers shipped in from Karnaca had actually done the job, and done it well, from Corvo’s point of view anyway. The aim had been to calm the civil unrest in the streets, and that end had been achieved.

Roman was competent, there was no denying it. And _that_ was precisely what made the whole situation so difficult for Corvo. Competency was a rare thing. He was maybe a little heavy-handed in his methods, but nothing too troubling from what had been reported back to him. Small _things_ that Roman brought up during discussions on strategy concerned Corvo, however: conscription, religious police, and public penance were all proposed ideas that had sobered Corvo considerably when they’d been presented to him, and he recoiled at their mention each time, reminding Roman that he was going way too far. 

Still, they became friends slowly. These late-night outings to the quiet palace balconies were friendly, even when Corvo batted away the unsavoury ideas and proposals. It was rare that the Abbey’s strategy was discussed anyhow - normally discussion was relegated to idle chit-chat, discussion of life experiences, shared jokes and talk of how things used to be. Although quiet on the outside, going so far as to appear cold and callous and hostile to those he wasn’t friendly with such as Theo and Jacques, Corvo found Roman a warm, sanguine, and fiercely intelligent man with a penchant for peach soda. He, like Corvo, had been born into poverty, grew up in Dabokva, Tyvia, and moved to Dunwall after he had been accepted into the Abbey. He made no mention of his parents or any siblings, other than that his mother had spent an extended period of time in the Dabokva Asylum; Corvo had nodded sympathetically and left it at that.

Either way, his younger life didn’t appear to have been particularly kind to him, and Corvo wrote off the suggestions of conscription and public penance as simply irregularities he had picked up, ones that he needed gently dissuading from, so that was what he continued to do.

The outings got him out of that cold concrete room and into the open air. They brought him social contact and a friendly voice willing to listen, and it return, Corvo listened as well so there they sat on evenings here and there, watching the fireworks from the rich part of Dunwall, from near the estate district where many years ago Corvo had snapped the neck of Waverly Boyle, preferring that to the life she’d have been living if he’d handed her over to Timothy Brisby. Maybe it was another party.

“You ever been there?” Corvo asked, pointing towards the showers of gold and green and red, and looked over towards Roman, who stared straight ahead and squinted.

“No,” he responded, shaking his head, “Well, yes. But only on official business. I was never invited to any of those stuck-up parties. Most of the time I had been asked to investigate Outsider worship in those areas. Never found anything, mind.”

Corvo wasn’t surprised. He doubted that the rich in that area of Dunwall could ever want for anything, so why would they resort to praying to a banned deity? That sort of thing was for people who were starving to death, whose relatives were dying of rat plague or bloodfly infestation. The only Outsider shrine he’d found in that area of the city had been in an abandoned apartment, which he found quite poetic. He was sure the Outsider himself would find it more than entertaining too, and he felt the mark on the back of his hand prickle, thankful for the wrap he wore so religiously. Instinctively, he slid his Marked hand in his pocket. He hadn’t used any of his powers since he’d found Emily still encased in stone, hadn’t needed to, for a start, and also found himself too _watched_ for comfort.

Curious, Corvo decided to push it a bit further. “You ever found Outsider worshippers yourself?”

Roman laughed a short, sharp laugh and looked over at Corvo, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I’m not sure where you were during the coup, but a lot of shrines started springing up then. We were busy. Overcrowded jails and everything,” he rolled his shoulders, put his booted feet up on a low table, and looked back out over Dunwall, “I’m not going to lie, I felt for the families of the people we were forced to take away, but what were we supposed to do?”

Corvo hummed in quiet agreement, unfazed by the statement. “Khulan was a good man.”

“That he was,” Roman said, taking a sip from his drink, “Excellent at his job. Maybe a bit lax on those following the wrong path, but he was kind to us, and he was devout.”

There it was again. Corvo had always known that, working with the High Overseer as part of his job, he’d have to aggressively hide his mark, to keep it secret in fear of being dragged off himself, but this made him uncomfortable. Roman was clearly far more aggressive than Khulan had been, and it was important not to let it spiral out of control; he had overstepped his bounds once, and it wasn’t something Corvo was willing to allow him to continue. 

He changed the subject.

“Theo informs me he’s organised a state funeral for all the City Guard officers lost in the coup. Have you sorted anything out for the Overseers?”

“Yes,” Roman said, “I was thinking we could have a joint funeral with the Guard. Present a strong, integrated image. Guard and Overseer lives must be celebrated together, if we want to present a strong image If we’re to go forth policing as a joint force, then we should start now. I can help Theo with the preparations, I know he lost a son in the coup and he’s finding it hard at the moment.”

Corvo chewed over the taste of the pear soda that had quickly soured in his mouth at the receipt of Roman’s suggestion. “Have you asked him what he thinks?”

“Not yet, no. I’ve already had a look at logistics and it could definitely work. I mean, weren’t the efforts of the Abbey just as important as the efforts of the Guard? We lost hundreds of men, including Kulan, bless his soul. Wouldn’t you want them to be celebrated in a similar way?”

What was Corvo supposed to say to that? He couldn’t just tell him no, that it was a recipe for disaster considering the Guard’s hatred of the Overseer’s ‘zealotry’, considering the messy, unpredictable state of affairs, considering the fact that the population were still starving and angry. There was so much to unpack that had been thrown at him in just a few seconds, so Corvo floundered, his mouth open in shock, aghast at the suggestion. “I’m… I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Roman asked, and turned to him, propped up on one elbow, “Theo might not like it, but the families of those who have passed on will, it’ll be an honour for them to see their loved ones celebrated like the Guard are. With a bit of PR, it could work very nicely.”

Corvo’s mind was too foggy for this. He couldn’t think properly, it was too late, the topic too emotive, he’d had too much to drink and his head was pounding for it. He _wanted to say no,_ but how could he possibly tell Roman to keep his religious funeral hidden, tucked away in some building, when those men had families too? It would be blatant preferential treatment, and at best it wouldn’t go down well, at worst it could shatter the tenuous peace Dunwall had achieved following Emily’s demise. So could a joint funeral, apparently.

He just wanted to curl up and make it all go away. He hadn’t been trained for this. It was never supposed to be his job, and here he was, cocking it all up because he didn’t know what to say or who to turn to. Roman tilted his head at him, one eyebrow raised, so Corvo relented and made do with a second-best response. “Fine,” he said, annoyed at the situation he’d just been put in, “Make sure you meet with Theo tomorrow and let him know your plans. You two can work it out between yourselves. I trust you to be sensitive about it.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Roman said, “We still need to organise a date for your official coronation too. We can discuss it some other time. It is late.”

Corvo cringed once again at the address, drawing his glass in towards his chest. His windpipe constricted at the thought. He made do with a simple “Yeah,” as Roman rose to his feet, picked up his empty bottle and glass, bowed deeply, and then left the balcony to go to bed. He heard the High Overseer warmly greet a servant as he left the vicinity, and then Corvo picked up a cushion from a nearby chair, curling into it tightly. What he wouldn’t give to have Emily here. It was one thing to guide and advise her with the aid of Ramsey and Khulan, but now they were gone, it was a different kettle of fish entirely. He’d never expected he’d be the one _making_ the decisions.

By the time he got up to go to bed as well, the fireworks had long since stopped, the faintest glimmers of morning were beginning to shine over the horizon, and his fingers were frozen stiff.

* * *

“A word, Corvo?”

Corvo flinched at the feeling of a hand on his arm, and he whipped around to find Alexandria by his side, a concerned look on her face. Corvo looked around for a minute, regaining his bearings, pulling his mind out of his zoned-out state, and then mustered up the best smile he could possibly manage. She deserved no less. “What is it, Alexandria?”

She shifted from foot to foot for a minute, looking like she was still trying to work out how to word whatever she was going to say. If Corvo had to guess, it was going to be about the coronation. It was happening the next day, and she’d been heavily involved in the preparations, but when she did speak, what she had to say surprised him.

“Theo’s still not pleased about the state funerals, and neither is Jacques.”

“They’ve had weeks to sort it out, why did nobody tell me?”

It was true. It had been nearly a month since his conversation with Roman on the balcony, so the idea that there had been major disagreements that hadn’t been brought to his attention was disturbing.

“I’m not sure. I only just found out myself. It’s all somehow been planned, but Jacques keeps making a fuss.”

Corvo sighed, sat down, and rested his face in his palms, utterly defeated. If he couldn’t control three people arguing over a funeral, then how could he possibly expect to rule a crumbling Empire? Alexandria sat down beside him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly as his voice became strained. “We’re just going to have to tell them to stop arguing and get on with it. It’s too late to start making changes now.”

There was a hum of reassurance. “You can either talk to them yourself, or if you’re not feeling up to it then I can do it. As long as that’s what you think is best for the situation.”

Corvo looked up at her in desperation. “I don’t have any other choice, do I?”

“No,” she agreed after some thought, “It would have been a lot better if it had been discussed further before we followed through and made plans, but it’s done now. You can only make the best of the situation.”

“If by ‘making the best’, you mean accepting that everything’s going to shit, then sure,” he scoffed harshly, “I’d do anything to find someone else to do this for me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” she said, “Have you considered who you’re going to appoint for Lord Protector?”

 _That_ was an amusing thought. He chuckled dryly into thin air and then looked at her with curiosity. “I was always under the assumption that I’d be able to look after myself. Does the council not trust me?”

“It’s protocol and tradition. I think they expect you to, especially Jacques. You’re free not to, but he suggested that you might be too busy to watch your back like you were able to before.”

That was one hell of a claim for Jacques to make. Corvo made a mental note to have a discussion with him about that, before shrugging and relenting. “Fucking _Void_ , this really is going to be so much worse than I had imagined. Is Jindosh still alive?”

“You’re not suggesting…” her voice trailed off as she bit off the exasperated laugh, “Not Jindosh, surely? Be serious.”

“I asked if he was alive, not if he could be my Protector. At least he’d have the brains for it - would have done, anyway.” He remembered Jindosh’s frantic pleading as Corvo had strapped him into the electroshock machine and fried his brain until it was mush. There had always been the thought in the back of his mind that he could have employed Jindosh as part of his council if he hadn’t had anything to do with Emily’s fate.

“He is alive. Incapable of inventing anything like he used to, but still alive.”

“Good,” Corvo said, “Any clockwork soldiers remaining intact?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“They were the best soldiers out there while they were still functioning. Bring me one, and I will deactivate it and make it my Lord Protector. While Jindosh is intellectually incapacitated, he can’t make it a threat any more, problem solved.”

Hypatia looked around for a moment, agitated at what he had told her. “Corvo, you’re not making any sense.”

Frustration had been slowly building in his thoughts for some time now, but he brushed it away, opting to remain calm and composed, as he always had, “I am the best swordsman in Dunwall, if not the whole of Gristol. If Jacques does insist on having me choose a Lord Protector, then that is my choice.”

Corvo trusted Jacques more than most, but he had been frustrated at his tendency to prefer tradition over practicality. Corvo was the polar opposite; he always believed that progress should be favoured over maintaining traditions and rites and customs for the sake of traditions and rites and customs. He noticed he had been clenching his fist tightly, and when he opened his palm, he found dark pink crescents embedded in his palm.

“How have you been sleeping?”

The sudden question made him jump. He _hadn’t_ been sleeping well at all. He’d gathered whatever snippets of sleep he could muster, finding himself unable to rest at all most nights, and had taken to cat-napping in-between meetings. The nights were the times he’d spent walking across the rooftops, unable to redirect his racing, disjointed thoughts, listening to the sounds of idle conversation and chatter in the streets below, allowing the cold wind of the Month of Rain to freeze his fingers stiff. If it wasn’t thoughts of Emily keeping him up, it was the dread of being crowned Emperor, or the thought of the Empire that she and Jessamine had worked so hard to build up shattering and splintering off into civil unrest, forming independent states, fighting amongst themselves, but more importantly, fighting against the Empire. Fighting against him. Serkonos had remained, with the help of Armando, who Corvo still kept close contact with, but they were hungry there too - starving. Armando, Corvo suspected, was losing his patience, and although he had control of Karnaca for now, how long would that be for?

He noticed Alexandria still looking at him. She had asked him a question and he had gone off on an internal tangent.

Instead of telling her the truth, he lied. Nodded. “I’m sleeping fine.”

It was transparent. Alexandria withdrew her hand from his shoulder and frowned at him for a moment, obviously perturbed by the blatant lie. Maybe, he hoped, she would understand why he had said that. She had always struck him as kind and altruistic, so he hoped he’d be able to get away with it; regardless, guilt gathered in his gut like thick, dirty smoke. She deserved better than this, but he _couldn’t_ let himself admit to her that he’d been struggling. He could barely even admit it to himself.

“Well…” her voice was unsure, “If you need anything, then you know where I am.”

He watched her as she got up, turned around and headed for the door before calling after her, a bolt of spite spiking his way through his chest, unable to contain the desperate contempt in his voice, “You’re not getting away with this either. I’m appointing you an official general advisor as soon as this coronation happens.”

She stopped stiffly in her tracks, turned around slowly, and nodded at him. “It would have been foolish of me to assume otherwise.”

She left him in the half-darkness of the drawing room, once again staring into the fire, thinking. Dreading the next day. Dreading the next week. Dreading the rest of his life. Staring turned to restless pacing as the hours wore on, and then eventually, only at four in the morning did the need for sleep start pulling at the corners of his vision. He made his way back through the tower, nodding to the few castle staff he did pass, and then collapsed onto his bed fully-clothed. It was a bad habit he’d picked up again recently. On the few occasions that Jessamine caught him sleeping alone at night, when he hadn’t made his way to her chambers on the sly, carefully avoiding watchful eyes, she’d chastised him for it - said it was lazy and not worth the later effort of washing his clothes again when the morning came, but he’d been so tired at the time. Emily had always said the same thing, although that might just have been an objection to finding him asleep in his office, surrounded by paperwork when things got busy.

Old habits die hard.

It might just have been the exhaustion but for the first time in months, he found himself passing smoothly into a dream world, and whether he was surprised to find the Outsider there was another question. Good. Maybe he’d be able to help him sort out this mess. Maybe Corvo could finally give him a piece of his mind.

The customary cold of the Void hit him in the face, although it was nothing like the cold of Dunwall during the months of Darkness, High Cold and Ice; it was empty, lifeless, no spiders spun crystalline webs that froze and shattered upon impact with the remaining insects they were created to catch, no small mammals braved the frosts to collect the shrivelled, grey berries that had fallen to the floor. No. The Void was dry and dead and utterly barren and devoid of life. Corvo wondered briefly if this was what the Outsider always experienced, lived in, and in some small recess of his mind, he felt pity.

Not enough pity though. Any being, deity or not, that was fucked up enough to take the soul of a soul recently deceased and cage it in a disembodied heart wrapped in sharp barbed wire and clockwork didn’t deserve that pity, didn’t deserve the kindness. It didn’t matter to Corvo that technically it was Piero who had created the Heart; what mattered was that the Outsider had planted the idea in his mind. That was what Corvo understood, anyway. Knowing how the Outsider had come to be bothered him none either. It didn’t excuse the borderline sadistic ideas and creations that had been borne out of his mind.

The Outsider sat on his throne of rock across the floating field of broken, shattered landscapes as he always did. He observed Corvo as he approached him from below like some kind of sadistic megalomaniac, placed his chin in his palm and waited until Corvo had finally picked his way across the rocky path, then disappeared in a cloud of Void ash, only to appear behind him, placing one icy-cold hand on Corvo’s shoulder. Corvo jumped, shuddered violently and brushed the hand off.

“Where were you?” Corvo asked, his voice already harsh and cracked, eyes burning with fury, “Where have you been this past month? Emily’s _still petrified_ and you didn’t even _think_ to turn up?”

The Outsider raised an eyebrow at him and circled him slowly, leisurely, hands behind his back, as if he were enjoying a particularly relaxed summersday stroll. “I could say the same thing to you Corvo, my dear friend. I’ve been disappointed with your reaction. You’ve done _nothing.”_

Corvo spun on his heel as the Outsider disappeared again and rematerialised on a nearby ledge, looking down at him with cold, black eyes, as if watching prey. Corvo stepped back for a moment, feeling rage ball up in his chest, “The Empire’s been _collapsing._ People are _dying._ There’s no leadership and I can’t control those who I’ve appointed, I can’t get them to do their job. I’m in end-to-end meetings, where am I supposed to find the time to chase down a solution to a problem I don’t even understand?”

There was a moment of silence as the Outsider continued observing him, then shrugged and looked off into the distance. “If I had known how to reverse Delilah’s magic myself, I would have done it long before she’d inhabited my domain.” He burst into smoke again, reappeared behind Corvo, and Corvo forcibly suppressed the sudden urge to strike him.

The anger was quickly replaced with a sudden helpless exhaustion. His stomach sank as he felt all the energy drain from his body abruptly, his mouth dry at the thought. “So what… You’re telling me nothing can be done?”

“There are men who have studied this magic, but they prove relentlessly difficult to find,” the Outsider said. His voice smacked of something that might have been whimsy, “Even for me. Depending on how you treat your new job, you may find it easier, or you may find it harder. I feel your new Overseer friend isn’t going to make life easy for you in that respect. He’s very… competent.”

Corvo scoffed and turned, walking to the edge of the rocky platform they were both stood on, and looked over the edge, down into the Void’s dark abyss. “Makes a change. He gets the job done, unlike some of us,” a breath as he reined in his anger, “Fine, alright, I get it, I’m all alone in this. Not like that makes any sort of change anyway.”

“You have allies, Corvo. Not enough, but you have them. Keep them close, but keep your enemies closer.”

“Are you done talking rubbish?”

The Outsider chuckled; a light, lilting laugh that echoed around the Void, and he smiled coldly at Corvo. “For you, my dear? My favourite, most petulant Marked? Anything.”

And then Corvo was forcefully ejected from the Void.

* * *

Corvo didn’t sleep at all for the rest of that night. He awoke gasping and choking, gripping the sheets tangled around his chest and arms, and it took several minutes for him to finally regain his bearings in the real world. It never got easier. Whenever the Outsider approached him in his dreams he was left reeling, and he came to expect it, but never quite got to grips with just how _awful_ it felt. How it made his stomach churn and his head spin. How it left him stinking of the Void.

He shook himself off and got up, walking to the opened window. Although the room was cold, he had taken to always sleeping with it open, preferring to know exactly what was going on outside at any given moment, just like he kept his door locked shut and barricaded. He wasn’t cold-blooded either - as he got older, he found the sheets far too warm for his liking during the nights, so he preferred the cold environment. He stopped at the window and leant on the sill, drinking in the view of Dunwall at sunrise. Judging by the sky, he must only have slept an hour, two at most.

Today was the day of his coronation. He had failed to persuade anyone else to take up the role of Emperor.

He felt numbed to the reality now. It was something that he hoped would become easier as time progressed, ideally the coronation would be, by far, the worst part of it, and then he could settle into ruling behind the scenes. Some sliver of optimism inside him hoped that he wouldn’t cock it up too badly, and if he did then ideally there would be some PR fallout that Alexandria or Jacques would be able to take care of. He held his head in his hands. Judging by how the limited public excursions he’d had beyond the confines of the palace had gone, he wasn’t particularly liked.

That was the understatement of the century. If anything, he was surprised he hadn’t been assassinated already. He’d certainly heard one or two people calling for it, but that didn’t exactly make a change. He was sure that there were plenty of people who wanted him dead, just as he had wanted the same for Hiram Burrows’s old supporters. No big deal. Corvo was quicker. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Finding himself agitated, he left via the balcony and went on a stroll across the roofs, made his way over to the estate district and circled the Boyle mansion absentmindedly, blinked his way across the streets, looked down into the river below, thankful that he was no longer so _wanted._ It no longer mattered that the sun had long since risen and he was in plain sight, no. Things were good here in comparison with the poorer parts of Dunwall, although the remaining Boyle sisters had long since left, leaving the mansion derelict. Where they had gone, Corvo wasn’t sure. He wondered if signing the book that night had made them wary.

Probably.

He listened carefully to the sounds of idle chatter and the sweet smell of fresh baking from the streets below as he returned to the Castle. The sun was warm on his back as he retreated, and climbing back onto the balcony, he found a clean set of clothing laid out carefully on his bed. It was fancy. Short black robes. A suit. A new pair of shoes. He shedded the old clothing, took a shower, cleaned himself off, put the new ones on, then looked at himself in the mirror. Although the garments were nice, with a close fit, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable in it; it was too soft, too new, not at all durable like his normal clothing. He wondered who had managed to get him this without explicitly having him measured.

Alexandria met him in the foyer of the castle along with Jacques, Theo and Roman, all dressed up to the nines like he was. Theo gave him a look as he approached, and a muttered “I can’t believe you didn’t even shave,” was met with an irritated sneer of disgust and a moment of terse silence. Alexandria stared at Theo and tilted her head, warning him not to go any further, and he crossed his arms, looking off in the other direction.

He waited patiently as Alexandria affixed the robes to his shoulders so they fitted properly and ruffled them out of the way of his elbows as gently as she possibly could. There was a tenderness in her actions that he hadn’t really experienced since he had last seen his mother, and felt himself relaxing considerably. He trusted Alexandria to keep the whole thing under control where he couldn’t, anyway. He made a mental note to give her a significant pay rise, and then looked over at Lucy who was stood in the wings, and they exchanged a knowing nod. The whole thing was going to go badly; it was no secret.

Corvo could hear booing outside as Alexandria withdrew from in front of him and he withdrew a hand, hiding it in his pocket, turning a bone charm over and over in his hands to calm the anxiety. Roman looked over at him, placed a hand on his arm reassuringly, and gestured.

“We’ll get through it together. It won’t take long. Just do your oath, speech and wait for them to crown you. Then you can get out of there.”

The reassurance didn’t help. Corvo sucked on his teeth anxiously and turned to him as Alexandria made her way back in line next to Theo on the far side. “Let’s just hope all goes according to plan and nobody dies.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it fell flat.

Roman nodded once again and stared straight ahead, shuffling from foot to foot where he stood. He had, indeed, employed a large number of Overseers to keep the peace at the event, and from what Corvo had been shown, they would be both interspersed at regular intervals around the front of the castle, and in the crowd in pairs. They would be equipped with pistols and swords, which Theo hadn’t been happy about in any respect, but it was still better than nothing. The City Guard still didn’t have the men to match up to the task, so they’d made do with what they had. Corvo himself was fitted with a crossbow, hidden strategically beneath the cloak, and had also managed to stow his foldable sword in - not that anyone would complain if they knew. The best weapon in his arsenal had always been his swordwork, and at close range, it would be more reliable. Deadlier.

Minutes passed in silence. The anxious fluttering in Corvo’s stomach turned into mild nausea as he heard the crowd being addressed by the loudspeaker outside. It was no secret how many people he’d killed to get Emily back. The booing continued. Shouting. Screaming.

The doors opened suddenly. Sunlight spilled across the cold marble floor. Corvo, blinded for a moment by the sudden brightness, held a hand up to his face, protecting it from the light as his eyes adjusted, and then followed the others as they walked through the door to the crowd outside. It was an open event - citizens were free to turn up as they wished, subject to intense security. Alexandria had told him it would probably be good for his public image. A temporary stage had been set up for the event, and the four crossed it, took their places, stood behind Corvo next to a row of Warfare Overseers, and waited for the announcer to do his part. The crowd quietened for a moment, and then the booing started anew. They had been told about Emily. They knew that he was a stopgap. He felt his guts knotting up inside him in shame.

Corvo said his oath, then stood behind the podium, waiting for the go-ahead, waiting for the crowd to stop screaming at him, waiting. He gripped the rails, brushed the handle of his sword with his fingertips, shuffled through his notes distractedly. It wasn’t something he’d thought up himself; he’d had a lot of help from Roman and Hypatia, and he’d utterly failed at practising the speech. He hadn’t even tried.

It took him a while to realise that the announcer had finished speaking and was looking at him from across the stage with a strange look on her face. He had been so caught up in the buzzing anxiety that he hadn’t noticed what had been said, so he swallowed roughly, shuffled where he stood, and then gave up entirely on the notes.

It was too quiet.

“I want to be here just about as much as you want me to be here,” he heard Theo scoff from behind him, but ignored it, “I want Emily back as much as you do, but until we work something out, that can’t happen.”

More booing. More screaming. Someone threw a rock - how had that got past security? - which missed but only _just_ and a small unit of Overseers marched over, closed him in, and then dragged him off. Corvo watched them, silent, as they retreated and dragged him down the hill and continued behind a wall, and then he continued. It wasn’t what he’d expected to happen, and it was something he could ask Roman about it later.

He waited for his heart to stop racing for a moment, for the shock and dry mouth caused by the flying rock to dissipate, before continuing. “As soon as we’ve worked out what’s gone wrong, we’ll tell you, and then she’ll be Empress again. Until then, we’re-”

A gunshot.

The people in front of him erupted into screams and began to push. 

Reflexively he reached for the foldable sword and ducked down behind the podium, casting around frantically for the advisors. He spotted Alexandria cowering behind a wall of Overseers, and she gestured desperately at him, telling him to _come over_ , to get to safety. Corvo risked a moment to straighten up slightly to look at what was going on on the other side of the wall, and something small but _hard_ hit him just above the right eye, throwing him backwards, disorientating him. He allowed himself a moment to curl his hands into fists, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and then looked up.

Quickly, he made his way towards the back of the stage as the crowd continued to scream violently behind him. The smell of iron was already hanging heavy in the air. The sound of pistols and loudspeakers rang in his ears. His heart pounded like a caged bird as he went to join Alexandria and Roman in making their way back inside the castle, and the doors slammed shut behind them, muting the havoc going on outside.

Lucy closed in from where she’d been standing in the wings with a horrified look on her face, swiftly closed in on Jacques’s side and started asking him questions. Corvo turned to Alexandria, who mirrored his horrified expression for a few seconds, and then took his face in her hands, inspecting the wound. He pulled away from her, too agitated to stand still.

“What happened?” Corvo’s tone was rough, barked in insistence at Roman who jumped, turned around, and looked at him with worry written all over his face.

“I… I don’t know. I never ordered this. I told my men to keep the peace, and nothing more.”

Corvo felt something hot and wet drip into his right eye, brushed at it, and stared at the blood on the back of his hand for a moment before wiping it on his trouser leg, then rounded on Roman, struggling to keep his voice’s volume low. “What do you _mean_ ‘you don’t know’? These are _your_ men. _You_ need to maintain control of them. Did you define ‘keep the peace’, or did you leave it up to interpretation?”

“I _defined_ it in a way that involves following our strictures primarily, and I instructed them to use a method that involves not _murdering_ those who don’t deserve it.” His tone was pinched, quiet and dangerous, “I’ll find the man who committed this act and bring him to you as soon as I can.”

“Please do. I’m concerned about your professional conduct so far. Please ensure it doesn’t happen again, or I’m going to have to re-evaluate your position.”

Roman shot him a dirty look with darkened eyes, and then retreated quickly to a side room to allow himself back out into the castle grounds without attracting attention. Corvo watched him as his back was turned, the room still in complete, stifling silence, and then turned to Jacques. 

“Please ensure you find out what happened independently of him. I want to make sure he’s not fudging evidence, I _can’t_ have something like this happen again, things are bad enough as they are. Find out what you can now, and meet me in my office at tomorrow evening at dusk to discuss what you’ve discovered so far. If you can corroborate his conclusion via appropriate evidence, then maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Or maybe they are,” a pause as Corvo corrected himself, trying to compensate for the lack of sleep and adrenaline still pumping through his veins, “Either way, let me know what you find.”

Jacques nodded deeply at him, looked at Lucy, and they both scurried off to the upper floor, talking quietly between themselves, leaving only Corvo, Alexandria and Theo stood together in the room. Corvo instructed Theo, who was looking angrily on at him, to mobilise whatever troops he could find to reduce further damage, and then turned to Alexandria. Shrugged.

“Who could have ever guessed that this would happen?” She asked dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Come on, you need to get patched up. That’s quite a nasty wound. If you go up to my lab, my new apprentice, Frederick, should be there, he’ll sort you out. I’m going to go outside and see if anyone needs help.”

“Don’t you think you should stay inside until the Guard have the situation under control?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, “I have every faith. I’ll meet up with you when I’m sure nobody’s seriously injured and we can discuss with Jacques and Lucy.”

Corvo nodded in agreement and they departed. He wiped away another drop of blood that had managed to creep its way into his eye, and then turned, climbed the stairs. It had been only a month or two since Emily had been petrified but already so much had changed. Since her appointment to the position of Royal Physician, Hypatia had moved her lab into a light, airy space on the very top floor, and with the general lack of work recently, she’d been able to continue the study she’d started at Addermire. The lab itself was bright, windowed, full of a manner of interesting plants that emitted sweet but not overpowering perfumes, and Corvo found himself relaxing in there from time to time, looking out across Dunwall or studying the flowers that grew there, twisting into an array of assorted bright colours.

Working his way slowly up the steps, trying fruitlessly to catch the blood as it dripped from his brow, he asked himself how it had all gone so wrong. The people still screamed outside - no change there - as whatever was happening, happened. He flinched with every gunshot sound, however sparse they were, and held back the urge to cry. His advisors were working hard to calm it all down, and here he was, heading to the lab with his tail between his legs. It wasn’t his natural inclination; he wanted to get his hands dirty as a matter of nothing but _nature_ , he’d grown up throwing himself into the fray whenever he had the opportunity, but now it was _too much. Too difficult. Too dangerous._

He had just reached the second story of the castle when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and closed itself around Corvo’s wrist. He jumped, reached for the foldable sword still hooked to his belt, and then stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the figure the hand was attached to. They were cloaked, short, face obscured in shadow, their voice low when they spoke. Corvo could make out a dark beard and nothing else, and the only identifying attribute was the south-Serkonan lilt.

“Mr. Corvo Attano?”

Corvo’s eyes flickered down to the bony hand still gripping him hard, frozen where he stood, then looked back up to where he _thought_ the person’s eyes were, and nodded. 

“How did you…?”

“I am a friend. I’m here with instructions. If you want to see your daughter Emily Kaldwin alive again, then go to the Rudshore Financial District at the strike of two tomorrow morning, by the canal. I know of a man who may be able to help you. Stay hidden. He will not take kindly to loud indications of his presence.”

The Financial District. Previously the Flooded District, full of Whaler gangs before Corvo had picked off their leader after having been imprisoned there, after having been poisoned and left to float lifeless down into enemy hands. He backed off, tightening his hand around the foldable blade. “Where-?”

“He’s promised a meeting with you, Mr. Corvo Attano, but only once. If you don’t take this opportunity, then you might never be able to again and your Empire will fall to ruin. Come alone.” The hand withdrew suddenly and curled back into the cloak, and before Corvo could stop them, they had turned and were walking down the corridor away from him.

“Hey!”

Corvo hurried to catch up with the figure, but came up empty-handed when he turned a corner and found no indication that anyone had ever been there. Several minutes passed as he looked this way and that, searching for any indication that anyone had been there - a flash of cloak, the echo of footsteps, a dropped thread of cloak, but he was unsuccessful. His search offered nothing of use.

Only when Corvo was sure that he wasn’t going to find the person who had appeared out of thin air and then vanished back into it, did he allow his mind to start racing. The corridor was silent, save for the distant yells of the crowd outside, and warm afternoon light filtered in through lead-lined windows, highlighting the dust kicked up with every scuff of shoe on the carpet. A man wanted to meet him? Corvo was surprised the stranger had approached him unprompted - the circumstances behind Emily’s petrification weren’t something he had decided to make particularly public, so maybe it was a friend or relative of someone working on bringing her back to the land of the living. Maybe he needed to tighten security.

There was no question about it. He had to meet this man. There was no other choice. Any other opportunity to save Emily was one worth taking, and it wasn’t like he was in any sort of significant danger; he’d been through worse and he was sure he’d go through it again in the future. He took one last look around him, observing his surroundings carefully before leaving, climbed the stairs all the way to the top of the tower, and had his wound tended to by Alexandria’s apprentice.

* * *

The stranger had told Corvo to meet him near the canal in the Rudshore Financial District at the strike of two. The place was already familiar to Corvo, but he had turned up thirty minutes before regardless, maybe to scope out the area, maybe to catch a glimpse of the person he was supposed to meet, maybe just to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake and consequently missed them.

Previously it had been something else. A place where, fifteen years ago, Corvo had been left to his death, floating down the river into the hands of Daud and his assassins, poisoned by his supposed allies. Different times. Water under the bridge. Daud was dead now anyway, he had dead that very day, and some part of Corvo regretted it, while another insisted that he was justified - how could he possibly have known whether Daud had been sincere or not when he’d begged Corvo for his life, promising to leave Dunwall? For all Corvo knew, he’d take Emily away from him again, run his sword through her like he had Jessamine. The choice had been clear. It was revenge. It was good common sense, and he couldn’t have risked it.

Now, he was in a better position. He wasn’t working in top form, but he also hadn’t just been _poisoned._ He was calm, relatively healthy, not actively being hunted, and not searching for the man he knew had killed the love of his life, but anxiety still pulled at his guts. If he’d walked into a well-orchestrated trap, then it would be a lot worse for Emily. He suspected if he became unable to spearhead the effort to recover her, then nobody else would; that someone else would take over his position and become _too comfortable._

He blinked up onto a nearby lamppost, then a low roof and crouched down, observing the street. From here, he’d have a good vantage point, a place to observe what was going on far below. If there were supernatural assassins like the Whalers, he would be capable of escaping without having to confront too many enemies, and on top of that, he’d have the element of surprise. The Whalers had been incompetent anyway. It would take something special to take him down.

Corvo watched. Waited. The thick stink of fetid water floated up from the canal below and carried with it the smell of dead hagfish and river krusts. This had been the place where all the plague corpses had been dumped back in the day, and although it had been ‘renovated’, it had never, in Corvo’s opinion, quite recovered. He suspected it never would. People avoided visiting this part of Dunwall as far as they could possibly help it, and the district had certainly suffered as a result. Too many businesses had closed within months of opening, the empty shells of buildings no longer taking in enough rent money, consequently left to the elements, their upkeep neglected, abandoned and ignored.

More time passed. Rats scurried in the gutters in the street below, periodically illuminated by flickering street lights. A clock tower somewhere a couple of streets away chimed loud and clear. The sudden noise made him jump, violently.

Once. Then twice.

Reflexively he looked over one shoulder and then the other, scanning the darkness carefully for some movement or shadow or highlight, some - _any_ \- indication of hostile forces, but came up with nothing. Three times he checked his surroundings, each time following the same pattern as he had always done; left and right. Left and right.

Still, nothing presented itself, except the shadowy figure of a person standing underneath the street light below, looking up at him, arms folded across their chest. Corvo jumped again, finding himself becoming more anxious, and looked closer. He couldn’t see their face, no matter how far he zoomed in with the mask, and he crouched on the roof near the guttering for several minutes, before disappearing into the shadows where he was sure he wouldn’t be seen, and then blinked down into the street below.

Water filtered into his shoes as he approached the figure, one hand firmly clasped around the foldable sword, and hoped the slight quiver in his voice wouldn’t betray the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. “You asked to meet?”

The stranger nodded their head, and then turned. “Follow me.”

“Who are…?”

His questions, however pressing, were firmly ignored. Corvo did as he was told, waited until the stranger was a few paces ahead of him before continuing at a brisk clip, still clutching the hilt of the sword in one hand. The stranger’s gait was similar to the man who had appeared in the castle the day before, and he rounded corners just as quickly, walked with a bounce in his step as if light, floating on the air instead of tramping through dirty puddles and over uneven cobbles. They walked for maybe fifteen minutes, winding this way and that through streets, past the backs of businesses and down obscure alleys, while the moon shone bright down on the stranger’s cloak, giving it a shimmering, ethereal quality. It didn’t look expensive. Didn’t look new. Didn’t even look native to Dunwall.

Maybe this man _was_ from Serkonos. Corvo had distinctly picked up an accent when they spoke to him the day before; that would not be something that Corvo would readily get wrong. He could recognise a southern accent a mile off.

“Who are you?” Corvo asked after some time, when the stranger didn’t appear to show any signs of stopping. They were approaching the edge of the district now, and his feet were beginning to cramp from cold. Once again, however, he was ignored.

Momentarily, he considered turning around and leaving. If the stranger couldn’t even be bothered talking to him, then what made him think they had a feasible solution to Emily’s _state?_

Almost as suddenly as they had started walking, however, the stranger stopped abruptly in the street. They turned and double-checked firstly that Corvo was still there, and that they were both alone, before producing a key from some inner pocket or bag hidden beneath their cloak, and then inserted it into the lock. The key _scraped_ anticlockwise, and the door put up some resistance before swinging open, laying bare the damage that had been done to the structure of the building while the district had been flooded all those years ago. Swollen door frame. Dissolved bricks. Warped woodwork.

Corvo had expected the building to be run-down and abandoned judging by the state of the exterior, but instead, it was warm, brightly lit in the dull orange glow of oil lamp light reflecting off piles of papers. Aged twine hung like washing lines from the low ceiling, although they held no clothing; instead, small pegs clipped at regular intervals supported further sheets of yellowed notes, translucent, swaying gently in the breeze as the door opened asthe two people walked through the door. What limited furniture that the room contained was old, battered, haphazard - cupboards were missing doors and a small wood burning stove in one corner of the room looked fifty years old at least, with peeling, blistered paint and browned, rusty edges.

In a word, decrepit. But not unhomely.

The stranger gestured to a chair that stood near the door in an offhand manner, and looked at Corvo (it seemed like they were looking, Corvo couldn’t quite be sure with their face still hidden). “Sit.” 

It was more of a command than anything, so Corvo shifted awkwardly for a moment, and then walked over to the chair and sat himself down.

“Suleiman will be with you shortly.”

Corvo wondered why Suleiman couldn’t have met him out in the street instead of repeatedly sending this stranger to communicate with him, but he accepted it and waited patiently anyway, carefully observed the contents of the room and concentrated on the smoky smell of burned fuel coming from the fire. The stranger pottered around the room for a moment, clearing papers out of the way that Corvo supposed was meant to be deliberate, but came off as confused and disjointed. For a moment, he wondered if he should get up and leave, wondered if he was walking into a trap, but then the stranger left the room, leaving Corvo alone with the papers and the crackling sound from the stove. 

The stranger returned less than a minute later, still cloaked. He moved so he was clearly visible by Corvo, who was by now almost completely nonplussed, and froze in his tracks.

He moved suddenly. Corvo instinctively reached for his sword.

The cloak flew off with a flourish and landed crumpled on the floor next to him. The man - the stranger - who had been wearing it stopped again with his arms raised, then looked up at Corvo with an amused glint in his eyes.

“It is I, Suleiman.”

Corvo looked around, this way and that, his mouth hanging slightly open, unsure of how he was expected to react. The man was short, dark-eyed, with a greying beard and dishevelled hair, wore a tweed jacket with patched elbows. A small, dulled pair of spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, giving him more the look of an academic than the man of mystery that the stranger had promised him the day before, in Dunwall tower. “You… You are…?” Corvo said, struggling to contain the confusion in his voice.

“I am!” Suleiman said, with such intensity that Corvo jumped where he sat, “I am here to help you with your… _problem.”_

 _Problem_ was one way to put it. Suleiman had barely moved from his spot on the floor, yet already he was talking with such vigour and excitement, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke, his voice expressive and enthusiastic.

“My problem? Emily?”

“The Empress, indeed. Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, first of her name, daughter of the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and you, Corvo Attano of Karnaca. She has been taken by magic beyond your understanding, and now you want her back.”

At least he hadn’t called him _Emperor._

Corvo stopped still for a moment, and then nodded hesitantly. This wasn’t the introduction he had been expecting by any means, in fact he had never expected to find someone who would even _claim_ to understand what was going on with Emily. It was still possible that this was some kind of trap to lure him in for someone else’s good, but Suleiman was so compelling that it was truly hard to believe that that was the case. The stakes were too high as well; Corvo had earnt the reputation expected of a ruthless Royal Protector, a bloody Emperor, and although he wasn’t familiar with word on the streets, he assumed it would be a given that anyone who would deliberately lie to him on an issue _this_ important would be experiencing the wrong end of the executioner’s sword.

He dared to ask the question, fearful of the answer, yet somehow convinced by Suleiman’s zest. “You’re saying there’s still a chance we can get her back?”

“Of course there’s a _chance._ There’s always a chance. I can’t promise anything, but I have studied this kind of magic for years, just as I have the magic of the Void.” Suleiman’s mouth curled into a knowing smile upon Corvo’s widened eyes, “And you, my dear Corvo Attano, are _very_ familiar with that, aren’t you?”

Instinctively, Corvo curled his wrapped hand up and slid it into his pocket. Suleiman watched him with a curious smile on his face and then tilted his head at Corvo’s response. 

“Outsider worship is banned in these parts. Is that a threat?”

Suleiman sprung forwards and perched himself deftly on the edge of a nearby table, “Of course not, my dear friend. I believe if I or my research were discovered by the wrong people then I would not be long for this world. Your secret is safe with me. But to properly complete my job, I will need access to the statue, and for that, you will need to protect me.”

Of course. The castle was crowded with Overseers at the moment, with a ruthless and aggressive leader who, although competent, was constantly overstepping his bounds. Work would have to be done to make it safe. If necessary, traps would have to be set. 

The way Suleiman stared at him was almost cat-like. “How do I know you’re not just making this up, then?”

“You can see my research if you want,” Suleiman said, looking around, then pulling down one of the sheets that had been strung up on the ceiling and handed it to Corvo, “But it will take you years to understand it. I can explain if you want.”

Corvo fell silent for a moment as he studied the papers. The papers Suleiman had handed to him were full of diagrams and equations and painstaking technical drawings, words that even he didn’t understand, ones that he couldn’t even be sure were from the Common Tongue. He skimmed over it for a minute or so, then handed it back to Suleiman, who grinned a lopsided grin, pegged the notes back up and began to clean his glasses.

“Do you trust me?” Suleiman asked.

“If you wanted me to be honest, then no,” Corvo said, hunching over forwards in his seat, “But really, what other choice do I have? I need to get Emily back--”

“And your current team of researchers are getting nowhere, right?” Suleiman smiled again, “They shy away from all notions and suggestions of magic, which is why they have been doomed from the start.”

That was true, but it wasn’t something that Corvo had really considered. They had all been court-appointed researchers, but it had never occurred to him that they might have been chosen to fit in with the Abbey’s teachings exclusively. “You’re right. But how did you know?”

“I have my ways,” Suleiman said, and Corvo noticed he was rocking slightly from side to side, “It is not unexpected. People are afraid of the unfamiliar.”

Corvo could have sworn he heard a bone charm singing somewhere in the vicinity, but let it go. “What do you need to complete this… work? Do you need payment?”

Suleiman shook his head vigorously. “I am a simple man. I do not want for jewels, or riches, or a better house, but a man needs to eat, and to satisfy his _interests.”_

Corvo couldn’t help but notice Suleiman’s gaze flicker to the pocket that contained his marked hand. Some kind of primal fear surged within him, clawing its way up his throat, but he pushed it back down and forced his face to remain straight, and his voice to stay calm. “What does that mean?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but I need guaranteed safety to be able to complete my research. Make the place where she is hidden safe for me, and then find me here. Then I will start work on bringing her back at once.”

Corvo wasn’t sure what Suleiman had meant by that, but he knew it was time to go _now._ Suleiman, he was sure, was simply a little eccentric and no cause for concern, but the tone of his voice unnerved him nonetheless, and the way he seemed to know about Corvo’s mark without being told was worrying. Maybe this guy was some kind of seer, someone who knew things without seeing or hearing about them. Maybe he could read Corvo’s thoughts too.

No. He shook the thought off, chastising himself. That was silly talk, it wasn’t possible. He stood up and nodded to Suleiman. “When are you here? I need to know when I’ll be able to come.”

Suleiman simply sat still on the edge of the table and smiled again. “My friend, any time that you’re free, I will be here. I eagerly await your arrival.”

“Alright.”

“Just one thing.”

Corvo stopped at the statement and waited patiently for Suleiman to finish.

“You smell like the Void.”

Corvo nodded, an awkward bow of the head, “I’ve been told,” and then he turned. Stopped. Considered saying something to Suleiman, then thought better of it, and scraped the door open, returning back to the cold late-autumn rain.

When he turned, and looked through Suleiman’s house with Dark Vision, he found exactly what he had expected; it was faint, in some back-room that had been tucked away and hidden from windows, safely protected from the outside light and prying eyes.

A shrine to the Outsider.

* * *

Months passed. The team of researchers that Corvo had initially called to help de-petrify Emily was disbanded and swiftly replaced by Suleiman, who had gleefully begun to study her and the history regarding Delilah’s curse. There had been several close calls, but together, he and Corvo had mastered the art of redirecting wandering Overseers. Roman appeared not to have noticed that anything had gone amiss, and continued overstepping his boundaries, much to the chagrin of Corvo’s other advisors.

Jacques remained prickly, pushing back against Roman when he was outspoken in meetings, and dutifully continued to train Lucy. Corvo suspected that, behind closed doors, he was warning her of Roman’s very nature. Theo was similar, becoming angry and sullen, but continued to perform well, rebuilding the Dunwall Guard as fast as was reasonably possible.

Alexandria remained a small, flickering light in the dark months following the coup, and helped Corvo in just about every possible way, advising him, guiding him, providing him with emotional support when things became _too much_ and reassured him that he was doing the right thing.

And Corvo dreamt of Emily.

**Author's Note:**

> House of Pandora is coming in the next few weeks I'm SORRY I've taken so long I've had uni and stuff but the first two chapters are already written so it'll be SOON.  
> This is the bastard child of oneshots, I hate it but I will always hate writing politics.  
> THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YOU GUYS :)))))


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